


Witch Resorts

by secondhandact



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Eye Injury Mention, F/F, Fluff, Ghosts, Haunting, Humanstuck, Kissing, Piercings, Rituals, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/pseuds/secondhandact
Summary: Asking for help from the local witches seems laughable at first, but anything is plausible if you let enough time pass.





	Witch Resorts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serketcircuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serketcircuit/gifts).



Eight months, two weeks, and two days.

That's how long it takes you to reach the point where 'talking to the Witch group on campus' seems like a good idea. Eight months, two weeks, and two days of trying _everything else._ Feng shui. Meditation. Medication. You'd painted the walls and opened all the windows on every full moon. Fuck, you'd even tried religion for all of three days before you wanted to rake your undamaged eye out of your skull. 

If you were a lesser being, you would've given up and moved, but you got the little bungalow at a _steal._ At the time, you'd thought it was just the typical result of _aaaaaaaall_ your luck rolling high, but now you know better. It isn't haunted, not exactly; it's just....eerie. There's something off about it. Even with new paint and a day lamp in your bedroom, the air still feels clammy every night and you can still see your breath in cold spots down the hallway. To make it worse, the cold spots move. Sometimes they're in the kitchen. Sometimes they hang out at the top of your bathroom and steam hisses when it hits it. You practically have your own weather phenomena in your shower. Which is cool and all, but unnerving as hell. 

So........witches. 

You're drunk when you write the post. You slap it on the faceplace group and then forget about it, because what else can you do? You don't expect to get a reply, or any help. The desperate act of a desperate man, that's all this is.

* * *

The next day your doorbell rings at 8 p.m.

There's two girls on your doorstep. The one in front snaps her gum, popping the bubble she'd been blowing before you opened the door. "Your house is haunted," she informs you, marching past you and into your living room.

She's cute. _Really_ cute. She's got a narrow build, with narrow bones and a small waist, and she has choppy fuschia-streaked black hair hanging around her face. There's multicolored bangles clinking on her wrists, and she's got sharkbites studding her skin beneath her lower lip on either side. The two-toned skirt she's wearing is probably just a creatively-wrapped sari, and she unshoulders her bright blue bookbag onto your couch as she strides into your living room.

Her friend is also cute. She's pear-shaped and pretty, with full lips and a septum piercing, and her plum-colored lipstick works well with her dark skin. As she steps past the threshold of your doorway, she tugs the dark red ribbon from her hair and combs her fingers through it, making the ebony waves cascade over her shoulders. 

She keeps moving even after her companion has stopped, taking slow steps towards the mouth of the hall. You close your door in a daze, struggling to focus. You roll for moxie and are reminded that you have all the luck. "If I'd known that the witches were this hot I would've called you a long time ago." 

The smaller girl drops herself onto your couch, crossing one leg over the other, and doesn't say anything.

Maybe your moxie isn't as good as you thought, and you struggle to recover from the unexpected slip. "So, um. Are you guys here to fix it?"

She shrugs at you. Her smile is small and has a weird sort of knowing about it. "If it's ready to be fixed."

You can hear the other girl's footsteps echoing down the hallway. When she comes back, she crosses the living room to your kitchen and disappears into it. You hear the back door bang open.

Silence hangs. 

You're about to give up on the girl beside you talking when she speaks. "My name is Feferi Peixes. Her name is Aradia—"

Your front door opens. "Megido," the girl at the door finishes, extending a hand to you. "I've been dead before."

You choke on a snort of disbelief. "Who killed you?"

Her smile is strange. "You did."

You drop her hand like you've been stung. 

Feferi clears her throat. "We're here to help, Vriska. Sit down."

You'd put your name on the post but it's still a little weird hearing her say it. Aradia closes your door and picks your hand back up. You let her guide you to the couch, and when you sit down beside Feferi, she sits down beside you.

Somehow, being bracketed by the two of them makes some of your tension ease.

Feferi rests her hand on your thigh. "Re-elax," she whispers. "It's going to be awlright."

There's something odd about the way she pronounces some of her words, but there's something soothing to it. Your hand is warm, and when that warmth starts tingling up your arm you gasp and jerk your hand away. "What are you doing?"

Aradia giggles. "Just giving you a little splash of calm," Feferi says. "Your house is haunted."

"You said that."

Feferi rolls her eyes. "Your house," she repeats, "Is _very_ haunted. And it needs some pretty intense cleansing."

"What's wrong with it?"

It's Aradia who answers you. "Built with cursed wood."

"Cursed wood."

Aradia nods. She's got her shoes off and her socked feet are propped against youre coffee table. "When they dismantled the gallows, the boards were stolen and used to build this place." She rests her chin on her arms, which are folded atop her knees. "Nobody's really sure why."

"More specificorally—"

"Did you say 'specifi **coral** ly?"

"—nobody's ever looked into it," she finishes, without batting an eye. "Not that we've found, anywaves."

She's fishpunning. She's fucking fishpunning at you. You set that aside and focus on what she's said. "If you don't know why it was done, does that mean you don't know how to fix it?"

"Oh, no. We know how to fix it." She pats your thigh. "At least, we know where to start."

You nod slowly. "A start is good. Where do we start?"

It's Aradia who speaks. "We start with changing the atmosphere. Not to sound cliche and stupid, but you need some good vibes going on in here. The feng shui is a good start," she adds, "But you don't have any positive energy here. The negativity is feeding on itself."

You glance from one of them to the other. Since they'd sat down beside you, you haven't felt the _least_ bit uneasy about the walls around you. "You two carry good vibes with you."

Both of them giggle. The sound makes the room feel lighter. "That's one way to put it, shore!" Feferi says. Her hand is still on your thigh, and when you shift to let your arm drape over her shoulder, she tucks herself against your side.

You're suddenly very, _very_ aware that you're only wearing boyshorts and a sleeper tee. "So, uh." You clear your throat. "Does cuddling count as generating good vibes?"

Aradia's arm slides over your shoulders with the same sort of casualness that you'd put yours around Feferi's. It feels natural to lean against her, so you do. 

Feferi sounds pleased. "What do you think?"

You tilt your head back, looking up at the girl you're leaning into. You'd killed her, she said; but the idea sounds less ominous and more _interesting._ You'd killed her and she'd come to your house, and now you're cuddling against her and she's looking for all the world like this is exactly what she'd expected to happen. "I think I should have talked to the witches sooner."

Aradia nods, glancing down at you. "You're very stubborn," she murmurs, and then she kisses you.

When you come up for air, Feferi takes over, and it doesn't take long before you forget that you're supposed to be _scared,_ that you'd spent the last few months dreaming of grey-skinned killers with sharp horns and a sharp green light splintering the universe, that this was completely out of the ordinary and unusual.

This feels _right_.

"Thank the Universe for witches," you sigh, and that's the last coherent thought you have for a long, long, loooooooong time.


End file.
